Naked Cometh AnkhMorpork Nights
by Twist
Summary: Gay Voldemort.
1. Babb

Featuring Mary Sues, a section featuring YOU and shameless destruction and rape of the fourth wall.

--

A coach rolled into Sator Square. Not that that was unusual – coaches rolled through Sator Square all the time, dropping people off, picking people up, loitering, that sort of thing. This coach in particular was dropping off a final rider. The door swung open, and the rider stepped out.

She was beautiful. Her long brown hair spilled down her back like waves or molten chocolate, her violet eyes gleamed with life and probably magic and a faint smiled danced the tango on her lips. She was slender – her tight-cut blouse and jacket as well as her simple knee-length black skirt emphasized that aspect of her figure but didn't look too slutty – and she had curves in all the right places. She brushed her hair out of her eyes, revealing a platinum blonde streak that shone with an un-Discly orange when the sunlight caught it. She turned to the driver of the coach.

"Thank you, driver, I think I will walk from here." She treated him to a positively radiant smile, revealing perfect teeth. "How much is the charge?"

He tipped his hat. "Oh, no trouble miss. No charge for you."

She laughed. "You're much too kind. Have a lovely afternoon." She slung her Dolce and Gabbana purse higher over her should and walked off through the crowd, hips swinging and perfect ass accented by her skirt. Her black Jimmy Chou high heels clacked on the paving stones as she made her way to the Palace.

In the very same Palace, sitting behind a desk on the eighth floor, a dark-haired man looked up suddenly from his paperwork. "Drumknott?"

"Yes, m'lord?" The man's secretary, Rufus Drumknott, looked up from the filing cabinet he's been re-organizing.

"I've felt a disturbance in the Force."

"The Force, sir?"

"Yes. It's like a thousand authors crying out in pain, but they were suddenly silenced."

Drumknott's eyes narrowed. "You don't mean . . . ?"

The man took a ginger swallow of water. "Drumknott, I think we may have a situation on our hands."

"A situation, sir?" Drumknott closed the filing cabinet and grabbed his clipboard. "I would assume of the un-Dungeon Dimensions-y type?"

"Perhaps, Drumknott. I think we may have –" He bit his lips and paused, as though to steel himself for what was coming. "I think, Drumknott, that we may have a Sue."

"Ye gods."

--

And hour later, the young woman had made her way to the Patrician's Palace. She had merely had to wink at the guards to gain admission to the place because she was so hot. Now, after the exhausting climb up eight flights of stairs, she finally mounted the landing for the floor the Patrician's office was on. A light sheen of sweat sat on her forehead, but her make-up hadn't started to run yet. Nevertheless, she checked her make-up in her compact mirror and applied some more cream-shade foundation, a light pink blush, a very subtly blue eyeliner, and a streak of silver eye shadow. Then she made her way to the double doors leading to the Patrician's anteroom.

Drumknott knew she was coming before he heard the doors to the waiting room swing open. He and the Patrician had barricaded themselves in the Oblong Office. An assortment of filing cabinets, lamps and the Patrician's desk had been hastily pushed up against the doors, hopefully blocking them off for long enough. Vimes was scheduled for a 10:15 appointment – surely he'd get there five minutes early and realize something was amiss?

They heard her make a little 'hmm' noise. Drumknott turned to the Patrician, fearful. "What do we do, sir?"

"We wait, Drumknott. We wait." Vetinari had had the foresight to arm both his clerk and himself, just in case. Drumknott at first had been a little put-out at not getting the daggers, but the sword was pretty cool, he had to admit. "And if she comes in, just try to keep a clear head and –"

"My _goodness_ you two spent some time blocking that door!" a cheerful voice came from behind them. Drumknott froze. Vetinari winced and then turned, trying to stay as cool and calm as he always did.

"Can I help you?" he asked slowly, raising an eyebrow and fixing her with the Stare.

"Yes, I think you can," the woman said, smiling and sitting down in the Patrician's chair, legs crossed so her bronze tan and perfectly shaven legs were highly visible. "You did hire me, after all. My name is Lorellith Starspire Rainicorn Moonsparklins. You can call me Layla."

Vetinari paused. Drumknott felt a strange feeling creeping over him – he was inexplicably falling in love with Lyla. He fought it, but he just wasn't strong enough. Judging by the strained tone Vetinari spoke in next, he was fighting it too. "I don't recall hiring anyone by your name. Or even _anyone_ recently, for that matter."

She frowned. "Oh dear. Is that the case?" She flicked through a file in front of her. "Well, I may be of help."

Drumknott could hardly recall now why they'd had to be so wary of Layla. She was charming and beautiful. He was falling for her, hard. He smiled sweetly and looked to his employer, who apparently was trying very hard not to smile.

"You see," Layla went on, "I'm a very gifted witch – I trained under both Granny Weatherwax of Lancre and her evil sister, Lilith**(1)** so that both my talents in the dark arts and the light arts could be maximized. I also trained under the wizards in Fourecks for five years, since I am also a wizard. I can also bend the elements to my will and this streak in my hair changes color depending on what my mood is." She smiled and licked her lips. "How's that sound?"

Vetinari had lost. He grinned lopsidedly and nodded. "S'brilliant."

"You're not like any woman I've ever met," Drumknott said faintly.

Layla smiled. "Thanks Drumknott." She stood and made her way over to Vetinari, where she started playing with his tie.

"You look so hot today," she said softly. "Do me."

"Okay."

She laughed and then pushed him back a step. "But don't you have a meeting with Commander Vimes right now?"

Vetinari groaned. "Why do you _do_ this to me? We should get married. It would be fun and stuff."

She laughed again. "No, because I'm a party girl and a bitch, but don't get me wrong, I'm smarter than I look. Maybe one day you will win me over."

"Oh. Okay."

She turned him toward the secret passage she'd managed to enter through. "Go have fun with the Commander, Drumknott and I are going to spend some time together."

"Okay."

--

**(1)** I don't actually know Granny's sister's name.

--

Commander Vimes was, as usual, in a foul mood. He was getting angrier by the second, too, because not only was Vetinari's clerk strangely absent, but because the man had also apparently either locked or barricaded the door to his office. Vimes chewed his cigar with anger. He jumped when one of the doors banged open behind him.

"Commander!" Vimes spun around to see Vetinari looking flustered, worried and disheveled – altogether out of character for the man. "Vimes, quick, follow me. I can't stay here too much longer."

Vimes scowled. "You haven't been on the arsenic again, have you?"

"_No_. Trust me, just follow me." Vimes, still highly suspicious, followed Vetinari out of the room. They made their way down one flight of stairs, and started through the seventh floor corridor where many of the clerks lived. The Vetinari pulled him into a broom closet.

"The _hell_?!"

"Listen Vimes, I'm not sure I have much time." Vetinari reached into one of his pockets and pulled out a very deadly-looking dagger. "We have a . . . problem. I need you to do me a favor." He handed Vimes the dagger.

Vimes gaped at the dagger. "Your lordship are you absolutely _sure_ you haven't been exposed to arsenic in the last 24 hours?"

"No, it's worse," Vetinari muttered, with a slight grimace. "Vimes, have you ever heard of a – of a Mary Sue?"

Vimes paled visibly, even in the dim light of the closet. "_No_."

Vetinari nodded. "I'm afraid so. She arrived in the city this morning, as far as I've been able to find out. She's already got to me, it's too late." He nodded to Vimes. "Vimes, you know what you have to do. Just please don't be messy about it – I'd prefer to be buried in these clothes, if you don't mind."

Vimes blinked. "Listen, sir, this is bad news but I'm not going to _kill you_ because of a Mary Sue. I mean, aren't there other ways of dealing with this?"

"I'm afraid not," Vetinari answered, shaking his head. "There's no way to get rid of them once they've invaded. You kill one, three more will spring up in its place. Vimes, you have to kill me. I'll go grab an axe quickly if you'd feel more comfortable with that."

Vimes scowled. "Sir, with all due respect, you need to snap out of it."

Vetinari scowled. "Listen, Vimes, it's all well and good for you – you have your wife and you haven't actually had to . . . deal with the situation. Yet. But there's nothing to be done about her. So you have to kill me." He thought for a moment. "The best spot would probably be somewhere in my back, since they lay you down in the coffin anyway."

Vimes sighed. "Your lordship, this is completely irrational. Ye gods, I can't believe I'm actually having to tell _you_ that."

Vetinari grabbed Vimes by the chain mail and shook him. "Vimes, I absolutely refuse to become her . . . husband or whatever. I don't even know what that relationship is. I would say love slave, but I'm not sure that's entirely true." He let the Commander of the Watch go, and Vimes blinked.

"Did you just assault me?"

"I've had my people look into these . . . Mary-Sues," Vetinari went on, ignoring any physical assault that may or may not have occurred. "I'm sure you read the report about it in the Times. Vimes, these . . . _women_, for lack of a better word, are completely unlike anything else. They can't be killed, for one thing, apparently because they all have some super special powers or something. They're immune to things like, um, well like me."

"You mean blatant despotism, tyranny, and rampant intimidation?"

"Yes, like that." Vetinari paused. "I actually think I would be insulted by that, by the way, were I not concerned with this whole other thing."

"Then don't worry about it." Vimes paused. "Where do they come from?"

Vetinari shrugged. "Something to do with L-space, as far as my people have been able to figure. You know the whole theory about how we're all living in someone else's book, which just sits on a shelf somewhere else in the L-space?" Vimes nodded slowly. Vetinari figured he probably didn't really understand, but he went on anyway. "Well presumably someone somewhere reads these books**(2)**. And some of these people get it into their minds to write their own stories about the people in the books.

"I'm sure I don't have to tell you words and symbols have power," Vetinari continued, nodding quickly to the scar on the inside of Vimes' wrist – the ever-present eyeball with a tail on. "So these stories that these people write come true, in some universe, somewhere. Thankfully we don't have to deal with everything in _our_ personal universe – we'd never get anything done. But we get our share. And Mary-Sues are one of those things."

Vimes frowned for a minute and then said slowly "So this Mary Sue, she's been written into a story, probably involving you, by someone else somewhere in another universe who's reading about us?"

"Yes."

"Is someone reading about us right now?"

Vetinari points to the back of the broom closet, where you are, semi-transparent, sitting on an upturned bucket, the faint glow of your computer screen casting an eerie light over the scene.

Vimes sighed. "Twist, breaking the fourth wall – really necessary in this fic?"

You shut up Vimes; I do what I want.

Vetinari nodded. "It's true. Anyway, so you see, we can't really kill this Mary Sue unless whoever created her, you know, writes about us killing her."

Vimes thought for a moment. "But wouldn't that mean I can't kill you unless the mysterious author writes about me killing you?"

"Aha! Excellent observation, your Grace, but not quite right. You see, because I am currently not under the Mary Sue's power, and am, I assure you, completely in control of my own mind, that means we're off-screen. So if I were to die, the author would have no control over that."

Vimes' forehead wrinkled. "Sir, call me out on this if I'm wrong, but there are _mountain-sized holes_ in that logic."

"Don't worry about it. We may, as we are speaking now, be in a fanfiction somewhere. So any holes in my logic are totally at the fault of the author of that fanfiction." Vetinari shrugged. "Since it's Twist, I can almost fully assure you there are more logical fallacies and plot holes than you can shake a stick at."

"I never understood that phrase."

"Me neither; I'm not sure anyone does." Vetinari gestured to the dagger with somewhat more urgency. "Now hurry up and kill me while we're still in Twist's fanfiction."

"She'll never let you die."

"Yes she will, I paid for her grad school."

"_How_?"

"Don't worry about it." Vetinari rolled his eyes. "Listen, if you're going to be a huge woman about this, just hold the damn thing out and I'll jump on it."

". . . That's what she said?"

Vetinari blinked and raised his eyebrows. "I'm impressed. You're way better at that than Lord Downey."

"I do what I can." Vimes threw the dagger down. "Listen, Vetinari, can't we actually just write our own fanfiction? About us? And kill the Mary Sue in that fanfiction?"

"Don't be stupid." Vetinari pulled out a sheet of paper and a pencil. By the dim light cast by the fourth-wall-breaking fan invasion's laptop, he scribbled 'A unicorn appeared in the broom closet and shit a rainbow.' He handed the paper to Vimes, who looked around.

"Well, you're right – no unicorn." The Commander looked back to the paper. "Is this honestly the first thing you thought about? I mean, ye gods, who _thinks_ of stuff like that?"

"_Don't worry about it_." Vetinari paused. "Wait, Vimes."

"What?"

"I have an idea." Vetinari started pacing back and forth. "We can't write fanfiction about ourselves, true enough, right?" He snapped his fingers once or twice. "But, presumably, if _we're_ the subjects of a book and therefore able to be subjects of fanfictions, then maybe the _author_ of the Mary Sue is in a book too." He paused. "Am I making sense?"

"You stopped making sense about two pages ago but go ahead, you're on a roll."

"_Right_." Vetinari stopped by your semi-translucent form. "Give me your laptop." He held out his hand imperiously. You looked up.

"Wait, are you Lord Vetinari? The ghost of Lord Vetinari? Why are you in my house?"

"It's an unnecessarily long and convoluted story. Most of it's flowery language to fluff up the word count. Now give me your laptop."

"No!"

"Why not?"

"Because it's mine."

"That's an appalling reason for anything."

You frowned. "I guess so." Reluctantly you handed your laptop over to what you perceive as the ghostly form of the ruler of the fictional city of Ankh-Morpork, who was for no apparent reason standing in your living room/computer lab/depraved sex den (circle whichever is appropriate).

Vetinari grabbed the laptop and Vimes' eyebrows rose as he watched the thing emit a corona of octarine sparks for a second and become real, solid. The spectral version of you frowned deeper. "Don't hurt it. And don't delete my lolcat file."

"Quiet," Vetinari snapped. He propped the computer up on a shelf and started typing. It was slow going, because computers hadn't been invented in the Discworld yet and thus, typing wasn't really something he had to deal with on a day-to-day basis. But he hunted and pecked his way along at what I'm sure seemed like a blazing speed.

Vimes watched with mild fascination, idly wondering if this was really happening or if Vetinari had just got into some kind of hallucinogenic substance. Gods knew stranger things had happened. After about five minutes, however, the Patrician hit a key with an air of triumph. Then, apparently as an afterthought, he typed a bit more and hit the key again.

A unicorn appeared in the closet. And it shit a rainbow.

"Ye gods," Vimes yelled, jumping backwards into a coat rack in an attempt to get away from the thing. "It worked!"

Vetinari nodded, looking cautiously pleased. "The unicorn worked, anyway. There's only one way to tell if everything else did."

"Which is?"

"Vimes," Vetinari said slowly, laying one hand on the Commander's shoulder and one on the doorknob, "we have to come out of the closet."

--

**(2)** Except for The Brothers Karamazov. No one has, to modern date, ever actually _read_ that book expect for Mr. John Borstein, who wrote the SparkNotes for it. And even he skipped some bits.

--

Upstairs, Drumknott was fondling breasts for the first time in his life. Layla's, in fact. They were round, like perfect cantaloupes, and felt like deliciously overripe Valencian oranges. He leaned in to kiss her and his tongue explored the damp, stalagmite-deficient cave that was her mouth. Their tongues frolicked in carefree joy for a minute. Layla unzipped his pants and pushed them down around his ankles, and he pulled her skirt up to her midsection.

"I love you so much, Layla," he moaned like a breeze through the trees.

"You're better than a day at the spa," Layla gasped. Drumknott slid his undershorts down and leaned in.

"Are you sure you feel comfortable with this?" he asked roughly, wrapping his fingers up in her hair. "I mean, you might get pregnant."

"I can always have an abortion. I'm free for one tomorrow afternoon."

"Oh, okay."

Layla slid down in the bed to Drumknott's hips. With great earnest, she kissed the tip of his penis. He poked her lips gently with it, his throbbing organ asking timidly for permission to enter her facial cavern. She opened her strawberry-rainbow lipgloss-coated lips to take him into her mouth. Drumknott whimpered, arching his back.

"Stop _right_ there!" The door to one of the secret passages slammed open into the wall. Bits of lock and other mechanisms made a spraining sound and flew out of the door, scattering across the room. Vetinari stood there, trying his very best not to look horrified. Vimes was standing behind him, managing to look horrified enough for the two of them.

Layla hardly jumped when the door opened. Instead, she smiled thinly. The streak in her hair turned a dangerous shade of red. "Why Havelock. And Commander Vimes too, what a surprise."

"I'm surprised, all right," Vimes said distantly.

Layla slid back up and rolled onto her side. Drumknott groaned and slumped his shoulders in sexual frustration, which was depressingly routine for him. Layla cupped her breasts and raised an eyebrow at the Patrician. "You want to join us, Havvie-kins?"

Vetinari actually sneered. "No. No, Layla, I do not want to join you in perverse sexual acts that may or may not include my head clerk. Pull your pants up, Drumknott."

"Yes, I know you – wait, what?" Layla blinked. "Did you just say no?"

"Unless I am very much mistaken, yes I did refuse your offer." As Vetinari spoke, Drumknott's eyes cleared and lost their distant look. Slowly, he took stock of his condition. He looked to Vetinari and Vimes, mouth open. His penis instantly went flaccid and appeared to try to retreat into his body cavity like a dog who's done its business on the carpet and knows it's in deep trouble, not that anyone was paying attention to it.

Layla stuttered for a moment before gathering her thoughts enough to form a coherent sentence. "But – But . . . I mean, that's impossible!" She hastily got to her feet and stomped the floor. "This has never happened before!" She yelled, as Drumknott struggled around on the floor to pull his pants back up.

Vetinari scoffed. "Probably because you've never run up against someone who thinks to use your own weapons against you."

"What weapons?" she shrieked. "And why isn't my hair changing to a fiery red or deepest black?"

"Vetinari wrote a fanfiction about your author giving up on your story," Vimes explained rather bluntly. Vetinari rolled his eyes.

"Awesome Vimes, thanks, I have one dramatic line coming in the entire damn fanfiction, which is like the worst joke of a story ever written anyway, and you go and spoil it. Super. No pay for a week and a half."

"You can't do that."

Vetinari paused. "No I suppose I did delegate that power off to the city council a while ago. Oh well, thank gods I'm a tyrant, right?" He turned back to Layla. "Your author has abandoned you, dear girl. I almost feel bad for you."

Layla held her hands before her, as if holding an invisible glass ball. She started to chant. A remarkable amount of nothing happened. "Pikachu, I choose you!" Vetinari and Vimes merely raised their eyebrows.

"Was something supposed to happen there?" Drumknott asked from the floor, where he was having a tough time of getting his trousers re-zippered. Layla was looking at her hands, features frightened.

"My magic . . ."

"Was only made by possible by your author writing it so," Vetinari said smugly, reaching into his robe. "Without her, you're nothing greater than the basic features she gave you."

"But I'm supposed to be an intensely magical being thanks to my being half werewolf, half vampire, and thirteen sixteenths magical Hubwards fairy!"

Vetinari pulled forth a silver stake. God knows why he was carrying that around. "But your magic only worked when your author wrote about it working. No author, no magic." He pulled a dagger out of the robe too. "And anyway, being more than one-hundred percent of anything is idiotic."

"Yeah, I was going to ask about that," Vimes mumbled.

Drumknott raised a finger, pausing in his attempt to re-zipper the trousers. "Actually, it is possible in extremely –"

"Now is not the time, Drumknott," Vetinari cautioned, advancing on Layla.

"That's what she said two nights ago," the clerk grumbled.

Vetinari shook his head after looking mildly amused for the briefest of seconds and continued to move toward Layla. "We have here, my dear, a silver stake, infused with iron." He hefted it in his right hand. "Should about do it, I think." And without any further dialogue, thank God, he plunged it right into her chest cavity, where it first punctured the epidermis, then the pectoralis major, then it cracked her sternum and finally, pierced her aorta. He hammered it in a bit more with the handle of the dagger and stood back, looking pleased with his handiwork while blood sprayed all the fuck over the Oblong Office. Seriously, it was hella messy.

"If she's a vampire, shouldn't she turn to dust?" Vimes asked, moving closer but standing out of range of Layla, the still-living-for-now blood fountain.

"It'll happen eventually, I'm sure," Vetinari said lightly. "And even if she doesn't she's still got a bloody great stake in her heart, should finish her off pretty quickly."

"These pants are giving me quite a time of things," Drumknott grunted, getting to his feet somewhat awkwardly and still struggling with the zipper.

"Well, I'm not doing it for you," Vetinari said absently. "She is bleeding quite a lot, isn't she? I'm going to have to move things to the Rats' Chamber for a bit while they clean this room up and replace the carpets, I think."

"She's a good writher," Vimes critiqued, lighting a cigar and then putting his hands on his hips. "Some people just don't seem to have the knack for it, you know? They don't really jerk around as well as they could."

Vetinari nodded. Time passed, broken only by Layla's blood-muffled whimpers of 'Why don't you guys _love me_?' and Drumknott's zipper-induced grunting. After a period of time I don't feel like specifying, Layla finally went still. Seconds later her body and all of the blood vanished into thin air, as if they'd never existed. Vimes and Vetinari blinked.

"Well that'll save a lot of time," Vetinari said finally. "So I suppose that's settled. We'll have to keep an eye on the fan-created situations, obviously, but at least we know how to deal with everything now, to some extent."

Vimes nodded and tapped his cigar out into the ashtray that had managed to stick with the desk during its hurried migration across the room earlier in the day. "Sir, considering the circumstances, I'm wondering if we shouldn't just waive this morning's meeting?"

Vetinari pinched the bridge of his nose. "I suppose so, Commader. But only if you help me move all the furniture back. You too, Drumknott."

Drumknott had been suspiciously silent for the last few seconds. "I – I think I may need to lie down."

Vetinari looked up. "Why?"

Both Vimes' and the Patrician's mouths fell open when small, brightly-colored fireworks shot, apparently, out of thin air over Drumknott's head. A few bars from 'Hush-a-bye Baby' played from nowhere. Drumknott looked wretchedly down at his stomach, which looked ever-so-slightly bulged out in the lower abdominal region.

"I – I think I'm pregnant, sir."

--

EL FIN

OR IS IT? (Hint: no.)

DUN DUN DUN.


	2. Nilsson

Warning: Chapter makes just as much sense as the last one. Contains a long crossover with House MD. Pre House's Head/Wilson's Heart, obvi (season 4 finale).

If you tell me this is out of character, you are an idiot. And remember this quote:

"_Whenever I'm about to do something, I think "would an idiot do that?" and if they would, I do not do that thing."_

- Dwight Schrute

--

Doctor Lawn, honestly and truthfully, had never encountered a case quite like this one. There were a variety of reasons for this, but perhaps the most striking of all of them was that in his experience, there were not usually two male parents. He sat back in his chair and looked the very pregnant young man up and down, slowly turning what he'd been told over in his mind. He coughed.

"So, er, well. Perhaps, would it be alright if I went back through everything, to make sure I understand this as well as possible?"

"Oh by all means," the young man said. He looked distinctly uncomfortable and shifted in his chair, looking over to his employer who was disassembling a scale rubber model of the human heart. "I mean, the better you understand it, the sooner you can get rid of it, right?"

" . . . Maybe," Dr. Lawn replied cautiously. He shuffled the notes he'd taken (two pages worth) and flicked through them. "So, you've been pregnant for five and a half months now, yes?"

"Right."

The doctor scrubbed his face with his hands. "And it was some kind of unnatural, magical conception, yes? So you thought you'd wait it out, see if it went away over time?"

"Yes."

"And it didn't."

"Clearly."

Doctor Lawn leaned back. "And now you're coming to me asking me if I can remove the . . . baby, I suppose?"

"Right." The young man leaned forward as much as he was able. "So can you do it?"

Dr. Lawn blinked. "I'm going to be totally honest with you, Drumknott, I have no idea how to do what you're asking me to do. I don't even know where a baby would _be_ in the male body, much less how to get it out. Who did you say the other parent was again?" And here he glanced surreptitiously at Drumknott's employer, who was having way more fun with the right atrium and a knife than he had any rights to.

"It was – I mean, we think it was probably a Mary Sue," Drumknott sighed. "She came to the Palace and tried to seduce his Lordship and me. He got away but I don't think I was quite as lucky – we had, er, we were getting along pretty well before I was brought back to my senses."

"I found him on top of her, half-undressed," Lord Vetinari, supreme ruler of the city, said absently, squeezing the atrium and seeing what happened to the valve when there was a knife poking through it.

"A Mary Sue," Dr. Lawn mused before shuddering slightly. "Nasty things. Of course, it was only a matter of time but still." He laid his hands flat on the desk. "Er, well, I'm sorry but I'm not sure where to even start with this. Do you have any idea of where, exactly, the baby or whatever has been growing?"

Drumknott shook his head. "I don't have a clue."

"It's not his stomach; he's eating like a horse anymore," Vetinari chimed in.

"I can't help it – I get cravings!"

Vetinari rolled his eyes and squeezed the heart. It squeaked faintly. "Fine, but we've _had_ this talk about self-control, Drumknott." He scowled. "It doesn't look good when you have to leave halfway through a city council meeting because you suddenly cannot resist the call of a taco."

"It doesn't look good having a male clerk that's five months pregnant either!" Drumknott groaned, exasperated. "Half the council thinks I'm a secret girl and everyone in there thinks you're the father!"

Vetinari paused and fixed Drumknott with a blank stare. "Wait, so for those that think you're a pregnant man, _how_ do they think I'm the father?"

"Well this isn't exactly natural to start with," Drumknott wailed, starting to cry. "You don't understand what I'm going through. My feelings."

Vetinari gave Dr. Lawn what might have been a pleading look, had it not been Vetinari. "Listen, I don't care what you do, but that thing has to come out. I am not equipped to deal with this."

Dr. Lawn shrugged. "I'll see what I can do, I suppose. Er, Drumknott, I'd like to examine you, if you don't mind."

"Don't touch me! Nobody understands me!"

"I think that's the Mary-Sue genetics speaking," Vetinari muttered. "It's taking him over."

"That would make sense," Dr. Lawn said, rising from his chair and walking over to Drumknott, who was hunched over his swollen belly, weeping. "Not an actual baby, per se, more like a parasite, using him as a host until it's ready to live on its own."

"Which means we have to cut it out before it bursts out on its own," Vetinari cut in. Drumknott's wailing got louder. "I'll assist with the surgery, I'm a doctor, he's my clerk, it makes sense."

Dr. Lawn gave the man a sidelong look. "With all due respect, your Lordship, I believe you're a doctor of pathology."

"So?"

"Have you ever preformed an operation on a live person before? One that they later woke up from?"

"Well when you put it that way no, I haven't," Vetinari said, scowling. "It still can't be that different though."

Dr. Lawn, sensing he was on a slippery slope with a man who was not only the ruler of the city but also trained to professionally kill people, backtracked slightly. "Well, I don't really want to go slashing in there right away, anyhow. I don't think it would be wise, and would possibly be dangerous to Drumknott here." He reached out the pat the younger man on the shoulder, but retracted his arm when the clerk shrieked not to touch him.

"Would you, er, like to keep him for observation?" Vetinari suggested, looking warily at his bawling head clerk.

The doctor shrugged. "I don't see any good it could do, really – from what you've told me and what I've witnessed he's behaving like a typical hormonal pregnant woman. The fact he's a man is, apparently, irrelevant." He frowned thoughtfully. "I think, however, that I would like some time to think about this problem. Do some research. Would that be alright?"

Drumknott managed to sob "yes" out, roughly at the same time Vetinari answered with "no." Dr. Lawn swallowed. "Well then, waiting it is, I suppose. I'll work on this for a bit longer; see if I can come up with anything that might explain this at all. And, er, Mr. Drumknott, if you'd like to come it to let me examine you and try to understand this sorry situation more clearly, please feel more than welcome to stop by."

"I wish you were dead!"

"Well, that's nice then," the doctor said quickly, with false cheerfulness. "Just stop by if you need anything, and I'll be sure to keep you updated if I find anything. Now I'm sorry I have to run, the nurses will help with anything you need, there's an emergency reserve of chocolate under the desk, haveaniceafternoon." And with that, he fled.

--

And work on the problem Dr. Lawn did. Later, when Drumknott had been calmed down suitably, he allowed the good doctor to poke and prod his abdomen until there was nothing left to poke. Embarrassing questions were asked. Vetinari had long since left, since he was a guy and no guy wants to be around for something like that. When the doctor had done the tests and examinations he'd wanted to Drumknott left, returned to the Palace and his job, and waited.

Time passed. Progress seemed to be being made, and Drumknott went to the hospital for more tests. Vetinari was amazingly forgiving about the whole thing to those who didn't know him well. To those that did, they recognized the terror of one who was looking down the long barrel of being at the very least a full-time godparent and doesn't like what he sees.

It was two and a half months later when Drumknott went back to the hospital, Vetinari reluctantly along for the ride, since he did feel somewhat responsible for the whole thing, having left Drumknott alone with the beastly Mary Sue to begin with. In the doctor's office, behind his desk, Lawn looked utterly defeated.

"I'm afraid, gentlemen, that I have no good news," he said tiredly. "I've poked, prodded, and done everything short of cut you open." He shrugged. "It's not like anything I've seen before. Taking that into account, I'm not sure the first thing I want to leap to is surgery."

"Well that problem will be solved when it just bursts right out of me, then, won't it?" Drumknott snarled. "Two and a half months and the only thing you can come back with it 'I don't know'?"

Lawn shrugged again, expression apologetic. "Like I said, I've literally never seen anything like this before, I'm sorry." He shuffled his papers. Drumknott seethed.

"So is there anything we can do?" Vetinari cut in before blood was shed. "Surely the only option isn't just to wait it out?"

"It damn well better not be," Drumknott growled, clenching his fists.

Lawn shook his head. "Nothing I know of. Of course, you could always get a second opinion."

"From who?"

"Well, the witches out in Lancre might know something about it, though I doubt they'll be able to do anything about it in time." The doctor shuddered. "And the wizards aren't a good choice, I don't think." He seemed to think for a moment. "Of course, there's always the L-Space."

Vetinari raised his eyebrows. "L-Space? You want us to go find a doctor in a book?"

Lawn nodded slowly. "It's the only other thing I can think of. There's many doctors out there in the multiverse, some of them quite experienced in . . . unusual things like this. I can't recommend anyone specific, of course, but it's a possibility. Maybe the Librarian would know."

Vetinari looked to Drumknott. "I've never been to L-Space," the clerk grumbled. "So it won't do me any good. I wouldn't even know where to begin."

Vetinari raised an eyebrow. "Maybe not. But _I've_ been to L-Space."

"Of course you have."

The Patrician scowled. "And I _happen_ to know a doctor from there who might, possibly, be able to help with this. He comes from somewhere weird, I'm sure he's seen stranger things than an ill-tempered clerk that's pregnant by a fictional creation of a retarded twelve year-old." He paused. "Of course, if you don't think it'll do any good . . ."

"How soon can you get there?" Drumknott asked quickly. "Sorry, I'm just not feeling like myself . . . obviously."

"It's fine," Vetinari answered, waving a hand. "I know how to get there, it just depends on how long it'll take to get to the library."

Dr. Lawn leaned forward interestedly. "If you don't mind me asking, sir, where does this doctor practice from?"

Vetinari shrugged. "I don't know, but it's more disgusting than here, believe it or not. I think it's called New Jersey."

--

In fact, it took twenty minutes to get to the library. Normally, factoring in traffic, it would be a forty-five minute journey but when people saw the black coach, with the black horses, and the black shield on the side, traffic suddenly became a non-issue. Drumknott swearing at people who got in the way didn't hurt either.

From there, Vetinari left and instructed the driver to take Drumknott back to the Palace and make him lay down or something. He made his way through the library, paused in a long-forgotten study room to quickly change his clothes from the same robes of office he wore every day to a simple black suit that wouldn't look out of place in the magical lands of New Jersey. He then wound his way through the shelves, and stopped by a towering shelf of what looked like play scripts. The Patrician pulled a script out, flicked through, seemed to find it acceptable, and then stuck his arm into the shelf from whence the script came. There was a flash of white light, and then he was gone.

--

The most esteemed doctor in New Jersey was sitting in his office, thinking, when the phone call came. Caller ID read 'Princeton University'. Wary, he picked the phone up.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Doctor."

The doctor pulled the phone away from his ear, stared at it for a moment, and then spoke into it again. "Is this who I think this is?"

"If you're thinking it's a politician from another planet at the university library that needs a ride, then yes, it is."

"It's been _forever_. Where have you been?"

" . . . Some of us actually work at our jobs, true facts."

The doctor scowled. "Shut up. Give me a minute to steal Wilson's car keys, I'll be right over."

"Thanks House."

--

Dr. House did not, in fact, manage to steal Wilson's car keys since Wilson, in a fit of inconsiderateness, had decided not to work through lunch and had gone somewhere to pick up a sandwich. So Dr. House hired a cab, which delivered, some time later, an irritated Morporkian politician.

"Hey man, you going to pay for that ride?" The cabbie yelled, leaning out of the car window as Vetinari jimmied the lock on the door and escaped.

"Am I going to pay you the eight dollars it should have been to get me here or the twenty-five dollars it actually was, since you were driving in circles?" Vetinari sneered. "Besides, I'm dying."

"From what?" the driver snapped, annoyed that his strategy of raising fares had been spotted by an apparent out-of-towner.

"Life," Vetinari called over his shoulder, and he disappeared into the hospital.

--

"So," Dr. House began. He tossed his oversized tennis ball to Vetinari who caught it and took a seat in the recliner by the doctor's desk. "What brings you all the way across the universe to New Jersey? You didn't get shot again, did you?"

Vetinari pitched the ball back. "No. How's your leg, speaking of?"

"Terrible. Yours?" Toss.

Catch. "Varying degrees of awful depending on the weather." Toss.

Catch. "You been poisoned again? Because I have to say, you look too healthy to be poisoned." Toss.

Catch. "No, it's actually not me this time." Toss.

Catch. Dr. House sat up straighter and tried to hide his curiosity. "You know it's against protocol for me to treat a patient that I haven't actually seen, right?" He bounced the ball on the surface of the desk.

Vetinari leaned back. "Protocol, hmm? I hadn't thought you were much of a protocol-following person. It's my head clerk, he's in a bit of a . . . situation."

House threw the ball up in the air and caught it. "Vetinari? As much as I love to hear about your boyfriends and shattered love life, I'm incredibly bored. Is this a problem that's easily fixable?"

Vetinari pondered that for a minute. "I'm having a hard time seeing why it isn't," he finished with a noncommittal shrug. "Also, Drumknott is not my boyfriend, nor are we engaging in any sort of sordid relationship."

House seized his cane and stood up with a grunt. "Well then, if you think it's so easy, I'm assuming your first reaction is to slice and dice at it until it goes away. Which is probably the answer." He started to make his way out of the office. Vetinari got up and limped after him. "So in that case, the first thing we're going to do is take care of the larger problem here."

"Which is?"

"I haven't seen you in ages and there's something you _have to see_."

--

When two absolute geniuses meet, one of two things happens. After sizing up each other's intelligence, they will either a) immediately start hating each other, swear themselves mortal enemies and disagree with everything the other says or b) find solace in the fact that there's someone out there who isn't mind-blowingly stupid and actually enjoy each other's company to the point of being what might be called 'friends'. In Vetinari and Dr. House's case, the latter had happened, long ago, when they were young and inexperienced (1). Nowadays inconveniences like jobs and social lives (2) kept them from skimming off through L-Space all the time. But they still remained friends, in the sense that they both knew that if the stupidity of the world ever got too overwhelming there was one other soul in the multiverse who knew the same pain.

And so it was the Vetinari agreed to participate in this game that Dr. House had introduced him to. After all, Drumknott was a month away from exploding, if normal pregnancy rules were being followed, which they seemed to be. So what harm could a little game be?

Quite a lot, he was finding, as he tried to shake a cramp out of his left hand.

"You're irritatingly good at this," House announced, scrolling through the menu on the TV screen. "You're sure you don't have anything like this on your planet?"

"Other than the obvious parallel, no," Vetinari said. He leaned back into the leather cushions of the couch. They had set up camp in the oncology lounge, since apparently they had what House deemed the most comfortable couch in the hospital. Vetinari tended to agree – after all those years of putting up an impression of being extremely ascetic, he'd almost forgot what comfortable furniture felt like.

"Do you have any idea how long it took me to learn to play on expert?"

"I'm guessing longer than fifteen minutes."

"Right," House grumped, continuing to scroll idly through the menu. "I don't know what you are, but it's not human."

"Or maybe I'm just better than you at video games," Vetinari suggested.

The doctor smirked. "Maybe so. Or maybe we need to test that theory on different games."

"There's no time," Vetinari replied. "As much as I enjoy this I really do have a legit question about my head clerk. I think you'll find it interesting."

"Fine. One more song, to determine who really is better at this game, then we'll go play with the whiteboard."

"I don't think you're going to need the whiteboard, to be honest."

Twenty minutes later, Dr. Wilson strolled into the oncology lounge. He'd thought it odd that he had yet to hear from House all day, but had put it down to him having a new case or Cuddy locking him up in the clinic for the morning. Upon entering the lounge, however, all his questions were answered.

Standing up in front of the couch, Dr. House and another man – black suit, looked vaguely familiar – were staring intently at the television. A frantic, rhythmic clicking came from their guitar controllers, though it was barely audible over the screaming guitar coming out of the speakers.

"This looks productive," the oncologist remarked.

"Can't talk," House answered, raising his voice to be heard over the song. "It's 'Through the Fire and Flames'."

"Are you the oncologist?" the other man asked, not taking his eyes off the screen. He proceeded to nail a series of complicated notes that Wilson recognized from when he and House would play, that both of them deemed impossible.

"Yes, I'm Doctor Wilson," he answered hesitantly, unwrapping his sandwich. "And you are?"

"Patient in for consulting," House said tightly. The guitar sounded like it was in its death throes now, signaling the song would be over shortly.

"Is this a diagnostic test then?" Wilson rolled his eyes and took a bite of his sandwich. House didn't answer until the song was over. The digital crowd cheered and a newspaper announced that the patient, whoever he was, was the winner with a nigh-impossible 92, House finishing well behind with an 87.

"If it is we have conclusively diagnosed that he is capable of cheating at Guitar Hero," House muttered, slumping backwards into the sofa.

"Maybe I'm just really good at it."

"No one's good at that song."

Wilson raised his eyebrows. "I got a 98 on it once."

"Yeah, on easy." House took the controller off, looking sour, and stood back up, grabbing his cane. "Come on, Jimmy, we have a patient to diagnose."

Wilson took another bite of his sandwich. "Since when do I participate in your patient consults? And where's your team?"

House made his way from the room, grabbing the other half of Wilson's sandwich on his way. "Since you started buying me lunch." Wilson sighed, wrapped his remaining sandwich back up, and followed House and the patient to the diagnostician's office.

Once they'd situated themselves, House taking his chair and picking up his guitar in order to work out his Guitar Hero-related frustrations, the patient in the recliner and Wilson leaning against the bookcase, House started in with the questions.

"So what's wrong with your clerk? Drumknott, right?"

Wilson looked surprised. "Drumknott like the clerk in that Discworld series you read?"

"The very same," House replied, hitting a power chord. "Wilson this is Lord Vetinari. He comes here sometimes through L-Space, mostly when his planet's pathetic medical system fails."

Vetinari raised an eyebrow. "And I'm sure it wouldn't hurt if your politicians dropped by _my_ planet when your pathetic political system fails. Again."

"Aren't you fictional?" Wilson asked.

"We're all fictional to someone," Vetinari said. "It's all a question of relativity. There's universes out there where your lives are a medical drama on television."

"You can't be serious."

"Of course I am. By the way, when you meet a girl named Amber, don't date her. It'll all end in trouble." Vetinari gave Wilson a long, cool look. When the oncologist finally shifted uncomfortably, he continued. "And yes, the problem is with my head clerk. Eight months ago we ran into a spot of trouble with a horrible creature –"

"Not something from your Dungeon Dimensions?" House asked, strumming the guitar. "Because I don't know anything about that kind of thing – the worst we get are alien abductions. Reputedly."

"No." Vetinari paused, apparently thinking about what to say. "We sort of had a problem, and by sort of I mean definitely, with a creature called a Mary Sue."

Wilson choked on his latest bite of sandwich. House stopped playing abruptly. "What did you do?" House asked, glancing around, voice hushed, as if he expected a Mary Sue to jump through the wall at any moment.

"We killed it, thank gods," Vetinari sighed. "We used its own powers against it, sort of. But before we had the chance to kill it, it took Drumknott under its spell or whatever."

Wilson sighed. "Poor man."

Vetinari nodded. "Anyway, as soon as the Sue vanished it came to our attention that Drumknott, who may I point out is male, was pregnant."

"You got yourselves tangled up in an mpreg?" House asked, shaking his head. "You're absolutely sure it's pregnancy?"

"Judging by the tiny fireworks, the music, the fact that for three months following the incident I needed to hire another clerk for early morning because Drumknott was too sick, the fact that I've had to start using Brian for city council meetings because of the obvious, not to mention I felt it move once, yes, I would say it's mostly definitely pregnancy."

House smirked. "What were you doing with your hands on his stomach?"

"He thought he was going to explode," Vetinari deadpanned.

"Well, I guess that would be the way the . . . miracle of birth would happen," Wilson said distantly.

"So you want to get rid of the little anomaly, right?" House asked, strumming his guitar. A tune started to emerge. Wilson recognized it, sort of – he couldn't put a name or words to it right away.

"That would be ideal," Vetinari sighed. "It's been eight months though. Dr. Lawn wasn't comfortable with doing any surgery."

House shook his head, still plucking out the same tune. "Surgery would work but it's not necessary. Unwanted male pregnancies have a surprisingly easy solution."

"Which is?"

House didn't answer, at least not right away. Instead he continued plucking out the same tune and then started to sing, sort of tunelessly. As soon as he got through the first four words, Wilson knew exactly what the cure was.

"_Brother bought a coconut, he bought it for a dime. His sister had another one, she paid it for the lime_ . . ."

Wilson laughed, Vetinari smirked.

"_She put the lime in the coconut, she drank 'em both up, she put the lime in the coconut, she drank 'em both up, she put the lime in the coconut, she drank 'em both up, she called the doctor, woke him up_ . . ."

A minute and a half later, Lisa Cuddy had the misfortune of walking in on this particular patient consult. After she got over her initial shock of seeing her best diagnostician, oncologist and possibly a patient in the middle of a spirited if slightly off-beat rendition of Harry Nilsson's 'Coconut' she put her hands on her hips. "What's going on?"

"Oh you're such a silly woman," House sang, apparently right in line with the lyrics of the song, judging by how he just continued right on.

"Is this a patient consult?"

"Yes," Wilson answered, though he didn't stop tapping out the beat with two pens on the bookshelf.

"And is that the patient playing the keyboard?"

"Family member," House answered. "_Put the lime in the coconut you drink 'em both together, put the lime in the coconut, then you feel better, put the lime in the coconut, drink 'em both up, put the lime in the coconut, and call me in the morning_ . . ."

Cuddy rolled her eyes. "I hope no one's seriously ill!"

"Apparently not," the patient's family member answered as the impromptu jam session rambled down to and end. "So that's really all he has to do?"

"Should work," House answered confidently. "I learned about it in fictional medical school."

"Dr. House –!" Cuddy started, but the patient's family member stood up and shook House's hand.

"If it doesn't work, I'll be back." He paused. "In fact, I might be back anyway. It's good to get out of the office every once and awhile."

"Do you two know each other?" Cuddy demanded, feeling like everyone in the room except Wilson was conveniently ignoring her.

"They met a long time ago in a library," he said, nodding. "Allegedly."

The family member turned to leave and paused, eyes fixed on something on House's desk. "Wilson, you wouldn't be able to give the good doctor here a ride home this evening, would you?"

"I'm sure I could, why?"

The family member nodded slowly and then snatched the keys to House's motorcycle. "Thanks for everything, ta," he managed, ducking under Cuddy's outstretched arm and sprinting for the stairs.

House scowled. Cuddy was surprised he didn't immediately order her and Wilson on a chase or call security. "Bastard better not crash my motorcycle."

"Does he have a license for that thing?" Wilson asked, glancing to the stairs, where Vetinari had since vanished to.

"I can't imagine he does," House sighed.

"Should we call the police?" Cuddy asked, slightly alarmed by what she had just witnessed.

"Nah," House said, hitting another power chord on his guitar. "Wilson, I have a feeling we should stop by the library on the way home, though. And maybe the impound."

--

(1) If you asked either of them how they met, both would answer that they met in the library. Neither would admit to being the one that fell out of the bookshelf or the one that got landed on.

(2) LOL wait . . . no.

--

That afternoon the New Jersey state police got roughly thirty-four calls regarding a reckless driver on a motorcycle. All callers reported a male driver in a black suit, traveling in speeds in excess of ninety-five miles per hour, and weaving in and out of traffic. Later, they found the motorcycle at the library, though the owner of the bike, one Doctor Gregory House, had not been driving it and the mysterious suit-clad speed demon had disappeared into the library, leaving the keys to the bike with the woman at the front desk. And so they wrote it up as vehicular theft and reckless endangerment with suspect still at large and called it a day.

--

Five hours after his morning appointment with Dr. Lawn, Drumknott was having a lie-down. He scowled at his swollen stomach. "Damn Mary Sue," he growled. For a moment, the swollen dome of his belly glowed red and he felt something hit his spleen with what seemed like a particularly well-aimed kick. He groaned and rolled onto his side.

The door to his bedroom opened slowly. He looked up and in walked his employer, perfectly silent, a tray with – was that a coconut? – in hand.

"What's that?" Drumknott asked. "Did you find something out?"

"I think so," Vetinari said, handing the half-coconut to his clerk. There was a straw in it. In the white bowl formed by the cleaved thing was still filled with the milk. It also smelled faintly of lime. "Drink the whole thing."

"Seriously?" Drumknott asked, laboriously managing a sitting position. "The cure is a coconut? What did you put in it?"

"Just drink it."

Drumknott took a sip and made a face. "Ye gods, sir, it's awful." Vetinari shrugged and Drumknott scowled. "I really have to drink the whole thing?" A nod. The clerk sighed. "Fine." And then, using a time-tested technique, he pinched his nose and slurped the entire contents of the coconut cup down. No sooner had he handed the empty thing back to Vetinari than he felt a sharp pain in his stomach.

"Something wrong?" Vetinari asked, in typical male understatement fashion as his clerk double over and groaned in pain.

"I'm going to explode," Drumknott managed. "Argh."

It was then that Vetinari became aware of the noxious green glow Drumknott's swollen belly was emitting, able to be seen even through the man's shirt. He took a step backwards. "Just, er, try to ride it out," he encouraged. The basest of male parts of his brain, often repressed but still kicking, metaphorically, pushed to the surface and, without really being aware of it, he suggested "Maybe you should try to walk it off."

"I can't _walk it off_!" Drumknott howled. "I'm about to die and you say _walk it off_!"

Vetinari scowled. "You're not about to die, that's a bit dramatic." He paused. "Is your stomach getting smaller or am I hallucinating out of desperation?"

Drumknott fought to open his eyes and looked down. "Ye gods," he panted, wiping some of the sweat from his brow, "I think you're right. Oh gods argh." He hunched over again, grabbing his stomach. This time his muscles visibly spasmed and the convex arc of his stomach shrank again. "Oh gods it's kicking."

Vetinari backed up again, bumping into the wall, watching his clerk's body try to sort itself out. "Do you think it's, you know, coming out?"

Arrrrgh, no," the young man groaned through gritted teeth. "It's dying. But it's . . . it's fighting." Another spasm, a smaller stomach. "You could do something, you know," he wheezed.

"Like what? Hold your hand?"

"Gah, no." Another spasm, and the clerk's back arched. Vetinari noticed he was almost flat again. "I need . . . Gonna be sick . . ."

And just as the last spasm wracked poor Drumknott's body and his stomach grew flat at last, the green glow stopped. Vetinari gingerly handed him the coconut shell, which Drumknott very messily threw up into. "Ew," commented the ruler of the city.

Drumknott sat, bent over, panting and regaining his breath. The sweat dripped off his nose and into the vomit-filled coconut. After a moment, he managed, through the exhaustion, to look surprised. "Hey, look at this." He thrust the coconut in Vetinari's general direction.

"Seriously? No, that's disgusting, Drumknott."

"No really," the clerk. "It's not, actually."

Cautiously, Vetinari leaned over the coconut. His expression changed from disgusted to shocked. "Ye gods," he whispered. "It's like, it's . . ."

"It's _glittery_," Drumknott panted, handing the coconut off. "I just vomited _glitter_."

"I wonder if that's normal," Vetinari mused. "I should have asked House about that while I was there – oh. There it went, it vanished."

Drumknott slumped back into his pillows. "Really? Is that what happens with all unholy evil fan creations? Or just Mary Sues?"

"I wouldn't know."

Vetinari shrugged. "Why don't you sleep for a while or something," he suggested, picking the tray back up and making for the door, coconut still in hand.

"That sounds nice," Drumknott sighed, letting himself sink into his bed.

"Yeah and, er, don't worry about working for like, the next few days. Come back when you're ready," Vetinari said, unsure of how to handle this sort of situation.

"Thank you, sir," Drumknott mumbled, already drifting off. Vetinari paused, resolved to come check on the man in an hour or so, and opened the door. A pink unicorn looked at him, expression of manic happiness of its face. A blue unicorn, of apparently similar disposition, stood next to it.

"Heeeey, Havelock," the blue one said. "Hey Havelock, follow us!"

"Yeah, Havelock, you silly ruler man, follow us!" The pink one chimed in.

"Oh gods."

--

End.

For now.

Whatever, I don't even know.

_Sparkle sparkle! Sparkle!_

Seacrest out.


End file.
